mask onto his face. He stared at his sisters then the woman, a grotesque too horrible even for a circus.
“Take it off, Tib,” hissed his other sister, shyer and keeping to the back of the room.
Cyber Circus lurched. The woman laughed as she stumbled. The children rolled with the movement of the ship, limbs tucked up into their nutshells.
The boy, Tib, took off the mask, cheeks puffing as if he was frightened by the fit of it. “Zen monks don’t have titties,” he shot, and all three rolled and snorted at his daredevilry.
“Zen monks don’t talk,” added the shyer, more incisive sister, a squint to one blue eye.
“I’m playing make believe, that’s all.” The woman smiled softly. Wearing the rough dress with its belt of dead things, she looked like a devil from the neck down.
“And your name is?”
“Rind, and ‘tuther one’s Ol.”
“You an angel? One of the Saints’ kin?” asked the bolder sister, Ol.
All three stared at the woman with want in their child eyes.
She sat cross-legged on the floor to match their skilful balance.
“Tell me where you came from?”
The three shortened their necks.
“The father bred us,” said Rind.
“He was a bio-mor-pher.” Ol sounded out the adult word. “Blood worms brought him the bits and pieces he worked with most of the time.”
Tib added, “But we was special. Bred not made.”
“Crossbred. Like the hoppers.” The woman sucked her bottom lip and looked quite the child herself. “Oh, this is some world,” she marvelled.
Her expression grew shrewder. “How did your father come to place you in a circus?”
“Law took him for breeding us. We weren’t the way of what was natural said the government’s man. Herb, he hears and comes and takes us in.” Rind kept a shrewd eye on the woman. “We thought you a Saint come to bless me, he and she.” She used her front pincers like opposable thumbs, indicating herself and her siblings.
“Ah, I do have a gift for stirring the souls of men. And agitating the lay of the land,” said the woman absentmindedly. She took the mask from Tib and wore it over one hand like a puppet. “My gift is a blessing and a curse. I’m sure curiosities like yourselves understand the burden. And the thing I’d like is for us to help one another out.” The woman looked fragile then. Her wide mouth trembled.
The Scuttlers didn’t know how they felt about this mood shift. They were suspicious of the woman’s suggestion they work in some mutual alliance – hadn’t they always been put to work in that manner, by their father, by Herb? But they also appreciated the soft appeal of the woman, how she spoke to them like they had some significance in the world.
“What do you want from us?” asked the shrewd Rind.
SIXTEEN
The swarm rode in on the dust cloud, materialising through it like Hell’s own demons.
D’Angelus and his crew had no knowledge of the strength of the storm or the arrival of the swarm. Wanda- Sue wormed through the dirt twenty metres down; any lower and they would have broken through into the old, unstable mine tunnels. D’Angelus tucked his fear inside. He couldn’t understand why anyone enjoyed tunnelling underground when there was a perfectly respectable quality of life to be had up top. What he did appreciate was how valuable it was to suck the nutrients out of the dirt – gold, silver, and other precious ores. And to be able to burst free of the ground directly below an airborne enemy, weapon primed.
“Nearly there,” he said, squeezing one hand with the other to reassure himself of the fact. Through the windshield, he saw a hurricane of spraying water, churned soil and noise – and all he could think was how much the land was like a woman. She could be ploughed, but any moment her stability could fail, burying him alive.
“How much further?” he snapped.
“Coming up for air now, boss.” Das drew the steering rod towards him, between his knees. “You ready to fire soon as we surface, Mr D’Angelus?”
“Uh-huh.” D’Angelus put a hand on the fat release switch.
“Aim true,” said Jaxx, seated alongside D’Angelus. “Cyber Circus is a cunning creature. Miss the shot and we’ll lose the advantage of a surprise attack.”
“I hear ya.” D’Angelus’s brow hooked. “I hear ya.”
Nim didn’t have much call to visit the living quarters of the pitch crew and the other stage acts. She’d chosen to make her home in the airier maze of the dressing rooms, taking comfort in their light atmosphere, how the flowing white curtains enfolded her. In contrast, the living quarters underneath the canteen platform formed a honeycomb of dark confined little rooms.
She heard the voices of children bundled into the tight spaces by their parents and was thankful.
Standing at the door to Hellequin’s private space, arms bracing the doorframe as the ship seesawed, she saw a room woven from the same tough green fibre and gilt as the rest of the ship. There was a series of vertical nooks into which were tucked the few clothes the soldier owned, including a clothhod suede poncho she’d seen him wear when the air turned cool. The bed was against one wall, a fibrous bulge with a gaze canopy suspended overhead. It surprised her to see her old valet spread-eagled on the bed. Lulu snored in fitful bursts, nosing down into the sage pillow.
Crouched besides a small ammunitions chest, Hellequin followed Nim’s line of sight to the sleeping ladyboy. He gave his attention back to the chest.
“Kid gets nightmares,” he said gruffly. “I let him sleep on my floor when he asks. But he got high on Dazzle Dust last night. I figured he’d be nursing a thick head once he woke so I let him kip in here.”
As if in anticipation of the hangover that awaited him, Lulu whimpered, “No, Sir. Not the rod... hurts... hurts.” He sobbed and tucked himself into a ball of sweaty bedcovers and limbs.
Hellequin scowled as he collected his weapons. “As I said, nightmares.”
Lulu opened his eyes. He cringed against what little light there was inside the dank cabin, lay still a moment then let out a pitiful moan.
“Ah, sweet Saints! My head.” He blinked at Nim. “Mistress Nim? I’ve had such bad dreams. I dreamt blood worms came and took Hellequin.” His gaze moved to the soldier. “But here he is so I guess that was just the Dazzle Dust playing tricks.”
“Yup, just another nightmare.” Hellequin glanced at Nim and they made a secret pact to keep their kidnap secret.
“You gotta get up, Lulu.” Hellequin threw the ladyboy a rock pistol. Lulu jumped when the weapon landed alongside him, but he gripped it firmly and forced himself to sit up.
“Who’s attacking us today?” he asked, shaking back his mane of white-gold dreadlocks. His vanity was marred by a trail of dried spit running from his mouth to his chin.
Hellequin threw a small rock gun over to Nim. He packed a couple of pistols into the back pockets of his pants and hung a rifle off one shoulder by its strap.
The ship lurched. The drone that came from somewhere beyond grew ever louder.
“I don’t know what I’m hearing out there, but it’s not easing my poor sweet head any.” Lulu stood cautiously and brushed down the chemise and pantaloons he wore, his biceps incongruous with his girlish attire.
Hellequin threw him two cloth packs of ammo. The soldier passed Nim packets of smaller grade rock shot.
“Only hope we got is to take the locusts out while they’re flying over the open hull. That way, they’ll fall into the ether below, taking their scent with them. Swarm’ll let us be then.”
“And if the swarm get inside the hold first?” asked Nim, feeding shot into her handgun.
Hellequin stared at her, his steel eye whirring in minute adjustment.
“They won’t,” he said.
